Rootlessness feels like freedom

Dear Arundhati Roy,

I love everything you've written that I've read. I love what you say, and how you say it. Of course I want to support you as a writer, and the big publishing companies who put out your work. But I bought Listening to Grasshoppers from a man on M.G. Road, a man selling second hand and pirated books in front of Barista, the cafe coffee giant.

I was standing there waiting for an outworn colonial Dutchlady (that's a dull story), and her compadre, just looking at the books not planning to buy. I saw God of Small Things, second hand copies, and the only other book of yours was a bad copy of an excellent book, and so I got it. The more I read it, the more I'm feeling bad for spending $2 on a book of good thoughts, put together well. My sister spends more on Cosmo. But now as I read on, I'm feeling subversive that I am a participant in book racketeering. 

source: imagesfood.com

This pirate copy is growing on me. Your writing is pulling me in, and I turn to the next page with anticipation, wondering also if the shoddy printing will be legible. Also, I'm quite sure it's made out of recycled paper, which I think you would appreciate. Not only that, I appreciate the ambiguity and possibilities with having a different title printed on the spine. Glistening to Grasshoppers - it's nice.

*********************

But the story begins before the book was bought, while the thought was fresh in my mind. It's not uncommon to see other whities on M.G. Road, it's central. With so many MNCs, universities and all that, there are a lot of foreigners from all over the world here in Bangalore. But on that part of M.G. Road, you're likely to spot white people, and they're likely to be wearing Indian dress. For whatever reason, I don't know. Lots of white people, most of them wearing kurta and dangly earrings. 

Two women walked up, all in white. Angels! No. SwissyGerman accents, brown hair and blond hair, one in a white sari, one in a white salvar kameez. Many, many beads. Not just decorations, special wooden spiritual beads around the wrist. Special crimson prayer beads around the neck. Many beads. Burlap bags. Stylish sunglasses. 

The spiritual seekers knew what they were there for. Blond sari seeker digs through a stack out in front of the book spread.   

Twilight you want madam? 

No, I'm looking for the fourth one. 

Twilight madam. See this copy is very good. Very good. 

No, I'm looking for the fourth one, the fourth one. Breaking Dawn. Do you have Breaking Dawn? 

You don't want Twilight?  This one? (holds up book 1, of which he has many many copies). This one? (Holds up New Moon)

Blond sari seeker pulls book four from the bottom of the heap. 

This one. Will you give me a good price? 

300 Rupees Madam. 

A good price, can you give me a good price? 

This one you can have for a veeery good price madam, very good book (holding out Twilight, the first one) 

Heeey, I've come here every week. I bought the other three from you already, so can you give me a good price?

She looks at him disbelieving that he has no memory of selling her the other books.  Brown salwar seeker is browsing through another stack. He tries to engage her in a sale. She's not interested, only there for her friend, and she's here for Edward. 275 Rupees. Money exchanged. The desperation in her hunt for book 4 left blonde sari with little leverage for bargaining. But we love the idea of bargaining. She feels good paying less than the quoted price. He also looks quite pleased with his end of the deal.

Two women all in white. What are they doing here? I wanted to ask them. Since I didn't ask, I just made something up in my head. Looks to me like they're on some kind of a spiritual journey, and it must involve meditation and reflection. And of course it had to take place somewhere like India, with temples everywhere, and spiritual practices involving flowers and incense so integrated into everyday life.  

 I want to know where Twilight fits into the spiritual journey. I picture her at an ashram, meditating all day, and reading Twilight in the evenings and during lunch breaks. This is not about judging anyone for reading those books. Ok, I am judging, but more as a matter of taste than virtue. Flowy white clothes, spiritual beads, bindis and going barefoot - you can find it in India. People here are also filling up on the same caffeine and refined sugar, same internet, same Twilight books. And I wonder, how do all of these things fit together? This is not about the clash of occident and orient. Everything is coming from every place, east and west, converging in a marketplace where I can find anything I want and do things any way I want.

What I feel in myself is that I have no real connection with place. Where I get my news, how I communicate with people (and the places of the people I'm keeping in touch with), the books I read, the foods I eat - it's all global. I don't care so much that it doesn't come from exactly the place that I'm coming from. What I mean is that it's coming from all over the place, so many places. What does it mean to go to India on a spiritual journey? This is Bangalore, this space is full of things and ideas from everywhere. And I wonder, can you get anything here that you can't get anywhere else? For the wealthy, the mobile, the weather is nice, this and this particular foods are great here, and maybe there are people you know or are related to that you can meet here. Big cities all over the world are all a little bit the same. I feel comfortable because everything is here, everyone is here. But I also feel a little lost everywhere I go. 

When I witnessed the little man - hijra fight, I remember feeling that I should stay out of it no matter what because it's not my place. Not my community, not my people, not that it's not my problem, but more that it wouldn't be my privilege to step in. Since then I've been thinking about that, wondering where I could go that would be my community. I remember having similar feelings in Chicago at points in time, some confrontation or issue, but not my community, not my issue. 

For the floaters in the world, there is a rootlessness that feels like freedom. This independence means engaging at a distance, in battles that are not our own. There is no weight of responsibility, and no deeps bonds to hold me to a place, or many who know me well enough to call me to do better, or do differently.

As I'm reading the essays in Listening to Grasshoppers, one of the topics is adivasi (tribal groups) and dalit (low caste) people being pushed off their historical lands, making way for mineral extraction and development projects. Having lived on the site of one of the world's biggest mines, I have seen what this kind of development does for the communities where the environmental and social impact is felt. I won't wax romantic on pastoral indigenous groups, and all their mother of the earth wisdom (ahem, Avatar), but people are rooted to each other through places. So I guess if you wander around too much, you'll either be connected to everyone through every place, or not at all.